


Salutation Here

by Kou (Rietto)



Series: Yuri on Ice study [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, surprisingly so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rietto/pseuds/Kou
Summary: Grand Prix Final, Sochi.The event in which Yuuri and Victor finally meet face to face.Exchanging greeting was a struggle, it seemed.





	1. Chapter 1

Honestly, the fact that Yuuri Katsuki had a crush on Victor Nikiforov was a secret only to the legendary skater himself. Maybe not even him. Everyone knew. Yuuri knew everyone did.

To be fair though, most people who knew skating would at some point in their lives develop a crush on Victor.

Still, Yuuri was probably the only one who for some reason was surrounded by people trying to nudge them together. He remembered when he was still small and chubby, his adoration and puppy love towards the beauty on the screen obvious to his rinkmates, and Yuuko since then never stopped encouraging him to keep on skating.

For Victor!

She’d always exclaim, punching the sky.

Since then, there were others.

One of them was Christophe Giacometti.

“You like him.”

Chris said with a teasing grin. Yuuri ducked and pretended to read the comic strips opened in his phone. He cursed his genetic make up which granted him such pale skin, making his embarrassment always so obvious.

“… everybody likes him. He’s Victor.”

The Swiss just hummed. Yuuri burned hotter.

* * *

“Just make sure you at least speak to him, mon ami.”

“...This could be the last you see him this year after all.”

* * *

 Sochi, Russia.

Grand Prix Final.

Obviously, Victor Nikiforov was a favorite, and no one doubted that he’d place in the podium.

Still, even though Ciao Ciao kept on talking about watching out for the Russian Living Legend, Yuuri tried to do the exact opposite. Instead, he tried to ignore the living god that was Victor Nikiforov, tried to silence the part of him that was a devout follower of said god because, holy hell, he’s living the dream.

As he traced the steps of his programme, he couldn’t help glancing but glance to the side every so often, to the sight of Victor chatting with staffs and other skaters. Yuuri couldn’t understand what he’s saying, but he knew it’s Russian they’re using. Never English, at least not then. Not when most people in the stadium and country couldn’t even understand it.

Victor was leaning to the fence, feet on the ice.

It’s always been Yuuri’s dream to skate in the same ice as Victor.

And then he turned, blue eyes met brown.

Yuuri tripped on nothing from surprise.

He didn’t fall, but he could feel it. Warmth spread through his body from his harshly beating heart, the heat unbearable especially on his cheeks.

Victor’s eyes were so blue, so deep, and so wide.

Yuuri felt like he could hear the Russian’s thoughts.

_‘Is this what I wanted ? Him seeing me tripping over nothing?’_

Victor opened his mouth as if wanting to say something, and Yuuri didn’t want to hear it. Dreaded it. Feared it with every fiber of his being.

Chris’s voice replayed in his mind, telling him to talk with Victor. At least once. For the good of the soul. Yuuri’s soul. It’d have better effect than Yuuri’s anxiety medicine. He guaranteed it.

But…

_‘Seriously???’_

Sorry to Chris, but Yuuri lost the battle with his anxiety that time around.

The idea itself wasn’t that bad, exciting even, but at this rate though, he would never get to even say ‘hi’ to Victor.

_‘But then I wouldn’t embarrass myself. It’s alright, isn’t it? I’ve spent like, a decade just seeing him from afar. It wouldn’t get harder. Better give this anxiety a break lest I ruin the competition?’_

Yuuri groaned to his knees. His mental voice had a point.

Right, right. He’d spent like, a decade. Close to it. Give or take in a few months. Yep yep. He could just… not talk to him at all.

After all, his dream had already came-

Yuuri screamed when his phone rang. Yuuri picked up his phone with trembling hand, finding the devil to his inner angel of prudence on the line. He pressed the green button tentatively.

“He… hello…?”

_“YUURI! WHAT’S THIS I HEARD ABOUT YOU AND VICTOR NOT TALKING YET?!!”_

The voice resounded in the empty room so loud Yuuri couldn’t help cringing.

Phichit Chulanont was special.

He’s a child.

When they first met, he still was. He was different with Yuuri, who was already on the cusp of adulthood. A strong force fueled with passion inside a tiny body, a mere bud. That was Phichit. Even after years, Phichit still hadn’t changed.

Wouldn’t maybe.

At least, to Yuuri, he wouldn’t. Thankfully so.

He’s different from Yuuko or Nishigori, or even Minako or Yuuri’s family. He wouldn’t wait until Yuuri solved his problem himself.

Yuuri was used to being left alone. Phichit was different than  from everyone else. When Yuuri ran, he couldn’t just stand by and wait. He’d always give Yuuri a chase.

He’d push Yuuri forward, forcefully and cheerfully. Even when he’s nailed to the spot. Even when he’s hurt in return. His fractured foot not enough to convince Phichit to stop.

Phichit trusted him in different ways than others did, and Yuuri felt safe with him, always.

He’s the best friend Yuuri didn’t deserve.

Yuuri wished Phichit could have come with him.

Usually he did, but truthfully? This time he's glad he didn't.

“How… how did you know?!”

_“I have ears and eyes everywhere. Haven’t I told you that, Yuuri? Google Earth is a thing. Install it.”_

Yuuri refused to believe that he’s being spied on with Google Earth. Still, he wondered who gave infos to the Thai, since he’s still new in the International circuit and supposedly not that familiar with the other skaters yet.

Then again, there’s Chris. And Yuuri did hear that the Thai had somehow gotten close to one of the Russian skaters among others.

_“Anyway! What are you doing?!”_

“Uhm… I don’t… I’m not-”

_“Exactly!”_

Yuuri curled himself into a ball on top of his hotel bed, chewing his chapped lip and feeling defeated because Phichit was right. He’s not doing anything and that by itself was wrong. Feeling satisfied just because he got to practice in the same rink as Victor while the man himself mostly chatted with the others was unacceptable.

A waste of opportunity.

* * *

_“Trust me Yuuri, you’ll feel a lot better when you stand above him if you’ve had him fooled. Give him false sense of security! And then… BAM! I call this, the Delayed Ninja Attack!”_

He didn’t know what Phichit thought his childhood dream was, but he was certain that the Thai was not making any sense.

* * *

 Still, Yuuri was somewhat convinced.

He needed to speak to Victor. It’s like that horror mystery slash fantasy visual novel he’d read a few years back. When a wish is made, usually it’s connected to another one, more significant.  That’s why Japanese people tend to believe that prayers to gods better be left unsaid, lest the unconscious true desire was left unfulfilled and the fulfilment not at all satisfying.

Maybe Phichit was right. Maybe Yuuri didn’t really just want to skate in the same ice as Victor. Maybe he wanted to beat him too.

_‘… but, seriously? It’s Victor.’_

Of course. Everything everyone said, including Yuuri’s own prude angel in his shoulder, could be justified with ‘it’s Victor’.

_‘ Who doesn't want to beat him? Still, it’s Victor. Isn’t the bar is too damn high?’_

He braced himself and jumped, mind still filled with doubt when he propelled himself up. Let out cry of pain when his body hit his  the ice.

He’s glad Phichit wasn’t there to see him fail another quad. He didn’t want to see Phichit’s worried face again, didn’t want him to feel guilty over nothing. Ever since that incident, Yuuri found quads harder to execute. He knew it’s related to his anxiety, but it’s still frustrating.

Thank the gods his Axel was pretty much unaffected. Celestino wouldn’t teach his skaters quads if they hadn’t mastered the triple Axel.

The chill from the ice cooled his body, and Yuuri sighed into his arm.

“Are you alright?”

Yuuri sat up with a gasp, surprised. He hadn’t realized that he had an audience. He’d come to the empty rink in the break of dawn to let out the pent-up energy from his anxiety, and him being a competitor somehow convinced the security to let him in. His audience must had come when he was too focused on skating. A young woman he recognized as Mila Babicheva from the Russian team was holding out her hand, silently offering her help.

“I’m fi-“

Yuuri didn’t finish that word, voice stuck in his throat. Brown eyes met blue, and it was as if all air in his lungs disappeared just like that.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Victor Nikiforov was also there in the rink. The whole Russian team was in the rink. It’s apparently their allotted time of practice already. In the corner of his eyes, he saw a blond boy cleanly landing after a  the jump that Yuuri just attempted.

Said boy barked a question in Russian for Victor. Said Legend ignored him in favor of staring of  at Yuuri.

Yuuri Katsuki, his competitor whose jump skillset paled in comparison to a Junior.

* * *

 Needless to say, Yuuri fled the scene immediately.

_“What the hell, Yuuri ? ”_

“I panicked, okay!”

Phichit sighed audibly, and then chuckled. Yuuri could see in his mind how his young friend shook his head in exasperation.

_“What are you, maiden in love?”_

“No, I’m a failure of a skater.”

_“You know if I’m there I would have hit you right?”_

“I imagine so, yes.”

Apparently since hitting him was impossible, Phichit opted to do the next best thing. Which was screaming to the phone in hopes of rupturing Yuuri’s eardrum. Thank gods Yuuri put it on speaker; the damage was as low as it could be.

He continued slurping his energy drink, as the conversation took place after his morning run while he’s waiting for the time for his scheduled practice time with Celestino.

In the monitor, a notification popped up. Chris was asking him for dinner together with the other skaters. He added with an offer for a makeover. With a sticker of a winking cat.

_“YOU’RE ACCEPTING THAT!”_

For some reason that Yuuri didn't really want to know, Phichit could tell that he’d just been invited. At that point, he wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out Phichit could access his LINE account.

Yuuri being Yuuri, he answered with a direct, blunt and short…

“No.”

And then he cut the line.

* * *

 When they met the next day, Chris shot him a disapproving look.

Yuuri could only lower his head in silent apology, shamed, despite himself.

* * *

 Truthfully, Yuuri regretted it. Saying no to Chris, not following Phichit’s advice. Yuuko would have wept if she knew. Minako and the triplets would call him a traitor for missing a chance on getting everyone’s autographs.

Forget about missing the opportunity to fulfil his childhood dream, he felt like he’s currently at risk of disappointing most of everyone. That sounded more mortifying in his mind. Yuuri Katsuki, too weak to even say ‘hi’ to a fellow competitor.

He’d been in the international circuit for years, close to five now in Senior alone. He’s close to Christophe Giacometti, one of Victor Nikiforov’s closest friends. Wasn’t it ridiculous that he couldn’t even say a simple freaking ‘ _hi_ ’ to the man? Wasn’t it laughable that even after meeting the person face to face so many times already within the last few days leading to the competition day he’s not even Victor’s acquaintance yet?

So embarrassing, so humiliating.

Yuuri realized that maybe Phichit was right. Maybe he’d wanted to skate in the same ice as the Legend to beat him and gain the confidence to talk to him. Or as he would put it, to flaunt his triumph over him.

That sounded terrible, but logical nevertheless, since Yuuri couldn’t fight the urge to run away each time he messed up his skating in front of the man. If he did good, maybe he wouldn’t even think of running away.

Maybe, that one syllable, that simple ‘ _hi_ ’ could be said properly.

Even more reason to work harder.

If only he hadn’t made an arrangement to eat with Celestino, to discuss his strategy for short program the next day, Yuuri would have skated more. Celestino already make it clear repeatedly that he disapproved of Yuuri using his break time for more skating, and the only reason he refrained from pulling him by the ear away from the ice each time was the understanding that to Yuuri, skating was as helpful as anxiety medicine.

Even if that’s a bit paradoxical, since most of his source of stress could be traced back to the sport itself.

Looking up, the sky seemed like it matched his melancholic mood. Gray clouds as far as Yuuri could see, and he was sure that the temperature dropped. Just his luck too, when he’s about to step on the gravel to go back to the hotel, it started to pour.

Sighing, Yuuri glared at the sky.

First rule of living in Japan, always check the weather channel. In America similar rule apply.

How stupid. How careless of him to forget that rule.

Lacking an umbrella, Yuuri was trapped, judging from how the rain getting harsher with every passing moment.

Would it snow? He wondered.

He wondered if he should tell Celestino that he’s going to be late back to the hotel. Even if he took a taxi, with the downpour, traffic jam was bound to happen.

“You don’t have to call for a taxi.” A voice said in English. The accent painfully familiar.

Yuuri froze, his hand already in his pocket to get his phone. It’s as if in denial, his body forgot how to breathe as well. His human shaped shadow had turned into a roundish shape.

Yuuri was still young. Memory of his childhood days were still fresh in his mind. He remembered often seeing kanji for umbrella in his notes, the human characters replaced with his name and his idol’s. Courtesy of Nishigori, ever the bully. Also Mari who teased him often.

Like a wound up doll, he slowly turned and looked up to the taller man.

Victor Nikiforov was holding an umbrella over him. His lips stretched into a smile. Maybe it’s due to the cold but his fair skin was tinted pink. His blue eyes were as captivating to see as ever.

He’s beautiful, holy hell.

“You’re going back to the hotel, right? You can join me if you want.”

Yuuri’s brain short-circuited.

He was under an umbrella. Victor Nikiforov was holding said umbrella. He’s under the same umbrella with Victor Nikiforov.

Mental voices of the triplets rang in his mind, loud like fire alarm, as well as few the sound of flying confetti.

_‘OH SO ROMANTIC YUURI CONGRATULATIONS!!’_

Gods could be so cruel. Or kind. Yuuri didn’t know. He had difficulty determining his luck at that moment.

“ _A-ari… Kho_ … Tha… tha-thank you!”

He stuttered.

Embarrassingly, he did.

It’s so far from his fantasy.

He’d imagined wearing his sparkly costume, a medal hanging from his neck when he’s greeting Victor. At least in appearance, they’re seemingly equal. Then, he’d say ‘good day’ because of course it’d be an incredibly good day, introduce himself (even though it’s not needed, because of course he’d know who Yuuri was; his fellow medalist), and then thank the Russian for inspiring him.

Without stuttering. In perfectly comprehensible English.

Instead, he’s fresh out of practice. He’s still wearing his practice clothes, smelly from sweat, and an old jacket. His mind filled with jumbled Japanese, Thai, and English. Clear contrast to Victor with the silver tongue who, as always, was wearing obviously expensive branded pieces of clothing.

It’s like a scene from Prince and Pauper, but instead of them being identical, the prince was the tall a bright, handsome, and angelic creature while the pauper was just a cryptid.

_‘Should I… run…?’_

As Yuuri debated with himself, his mind still in the process of rebooting, Victor decided that his miraculously understandable ‘thank you’ was a consent to take a step closer and to put his hand on Yuuri’s stiff shoulder and pull him closer.

Yuuri squeaked.

His shoulder bumped Victor’s chest and his mind decided to go blank once again.

“Come. My car is this way,” he said as he led Yuuri through the rain towards the parking lot. Rain fell and wet his shoulders, at least until Victor decided that it wouldn’t do and draped Yuuri with his coat. When they reached the car, Victor opened the door for him and flashed a smile before he closed the door.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

His anxious mind was struck with silence, incapacitating him from even considering running away in fear of a thousand admittedly impossible scenarios. What magic was that?

‘Chris, you beautiful, sexy man, you’re right. Why did I ever doubt you? Please forgive this foolish mortal, oh dear sex god!’

Still, it’s still strong enough to prevent him from saying anything, sadly so.

Yuuri flinched when Victor opened the door to the driver seat, and he once again questioned his luck.

Victor pressed the various buttons in the car while humming a song Yuuri didn’t recognize, probably a Russian song. His smile was ever present. The machine roared to life and Victor skillfully drove the car out of the parking lot, humming still.

Yuuri was sure that never in his wildest dream he’d be given a ride by the Living Legend, Living God on Ice, Victor Nikiforov.

If he was to die, he thought he’d die happy, Victor’s smile being the last he saw. His humming voice the last thing he heard. His heart beat so strongly in his ribcage Yuuri could feel the vibration, could hear the thumping.

_‘Please, my heart… don’t give out on me now. I can’t die here…! I still haven’t said ‘hi’ to the guy!’_

“Alright, we’re here.”

Yuuri squeaked.

A footman opened the door, and he tentatively stepped out of the car. The rink and the hotel was close, maybe about five minutes by car. The trip was a bit prolonged by the rain, but still ended too soon for Yuuri’s liking. Victor talked to the concierge and was apparently asking for valet service.

Yuuri fiddled with the strap of his sportsbag, he still couldn’t believe what had just happened, even as Victor turned to him again and asked if he’s alright and not at all cold from the rain. He didn’t know which was more unbelievable. Being driven by Victor, or Victor worrying over him.

Manner and courtesy be damned, it’s still a rare thing to experience. Alright, so maybe there were others who’d been driven somewhere by Victor, asked about their condition by Victor, but who else could say that they’d shared an umbrella with Victor?

“Uh… uhm, thank you… again…”

“No problem.” He responded, smile widening slightly.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your performance. Good luck tomorrow, Yuuri,” and then he walked away.

Yuuri could only nod dumbly.

* * *

Yuuri went to his room, grabbed his pillow, and screamed into it.

He couldhave talked. Traded numbers. Asked for his LINE ID. Asked about Makkachin and told him about Vicchan. Okay, maybe not about the last one. Not yet. He still didn’t know how to explain to Victor the reason he’s the namesake for Yuuri’s dog.

So many missed opportunity opportunities, god damn it.

Yuuri was so full of regret he was in agony.

When he met up with Celestino in the hotel restaurant later on, he was commented upon by his coach. He seemed so happy. He said he had never seen Yuuriso determined in forever.

“I want to beat Victor tomorrow.”

Yuuri declared, unbelievably so.  

He wanted to fulfill his newly realized dream. Fantasy. Whatever.

Celestino grinned and raised his glass.

“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear, Yuuri.”

* * *

 After his performance, just after he left Kiss and Cry, Yuuri got a phonecall from home.

He saw Victor smiling at him from his seat on the bleachers, and Yuuri flashed him a smile in return, adrenaline still coursing in his veins. The thrill from his performance, which was well done ( _no failed jumps huzzah!_ ), made him euphoric and confident. Chris grinned and gave him a thumb up as well.

Yuuri thought of answering the phone before joining them.

He thought his family wanted to congratulate him. They always did after a performance, no matter how terrible he did.

_“Hello, Yuuri?”_

“Mari-nee-san.”

He was mistaken. So very mistaken.

_“I’m sorry, Yuuri, Vicchan…!”_


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe it started at the banquet.

Banquet was when love started to bloom in his heart, its petals falling one by one in the months which followed, leaving Victor confused and frustrated. With help from many people, he fought to preserve said flower, desperate.

Finally, in summer, it bore fruit and Victor was happier than ever.

There was time that he found it too bitter to his taste, likened it to unripe fruit. He’d complained to his best friends. Phichit had rolled his eyes, and told him to spare the fruit analogy.

“Unripe fruits always seem more pleasing to the eye. If it’s not to your taste, you wait for it to ripe by burying it on sack of rice. It’s not end of the world.”

Victor hadn’t known that that’s a thing. It must be a long lost wisdom only left behind in the memory of an omnipotent being like Phichit Chulanont, someone who knew the world’s most important secrets. Like how to deal with Yuuri. True to the Thai’s words, after giving Yuuri some time and space, they reconnected and even his happy tears tasted sweet.

(Victor tested said wisdom by burying couple mangoes on a sack of rice. After few days they did taste sweeter than usual. Who knew.)

The end, at least for now.

Still, even if love truly bloomed during Banquet, the bud was formed far earlier than that.

The seed sprouted far earlier than that.

Chris was Yuuri’s friend since their Junior days. After the Swiss introduced him to Instagram, Victor found Yuuri there, quite oftenly tagged by Chris. It led to curiosity as to who he was, until at the end of the day, it resulted in Victor putting alert on Yuuri’s name.

He knew from then that Yuuri was someone to watch out for.

* * *

For what? Competition?

What did he want exactly?

* * *

Yuuri Katsuki.

Japan’s ace.

Despite his popularity in real life, he had almost no presence in social media. His Instagram, Twitter, and everything else very rarely updated. But, his tag was quite lively, Victor noticed. He was often mentioned by his rinkmates and schoolmates, each posts garnering thousands likes.

He was Chris’s old friend from Junior days. He was just a year younger than Chris, so Victor supposed it made sense that they’d be close. People tended to be closer to others their age after all, and call him conceited, Victor knew from one look at recording of Yuuri’s performance that they had similar taste.

Victor knew from one look. He knew who was the inspiration to Yuuri’s skating.

And they’re honestly mesmerizing to watch.

The stories so loud and clear in Victor’s mind, tugging his heart in the way nothing else could these days.

When he could hardly find pleasure in skating anymore, only able to see it as work and activity to fill his otherwise empty life, seeing someone who displayed their heart so clearly was like finding the sun after very long winter.

Also, it’s rare for Victor to look at someone’s skating and thought, “ _Ah, I want to be able to skate like them someday.”_

Like a toddler who’d just watched a movie, and in the end of it exclaiming that they wanted to fly like the characters in said movie.

How childish.

Sure, Yuuri’s jump repertoire wasn’t as extensive or impressive as himself, but his steps and spins would surely make even Lilia Baranovskaya proud. And she wouldn’t praise just anybody. Victor knew. It’s been years since he’d known the ex-Prima Ballerina, and she never had good thing to say about Victor’s steps and spins.

Victor favorited those videos. Bookmarked them. Downloaded them. Rewatched it so many times in the name of research. Ended up fixating of the myriads emotions Yuuri could display anyway.

Wasn’t it _hilarious_?

Being inspired by someone who found inspiration in one self. Victor wanted to laugh from the irony.

* * *

Pathetic.

Oh so pathetic.

* * *

Whenever it became too much for him, Victor replayed the videos.

What’s the point? What else is there for him? He’d gotten everything, gold in every competition there is. He’d helped Russian skaters reached the podium as their coach or choreographer. He’d produced so many ice shows which tickets always sold out on the first hour. He’d charmed the whole world through modelling work on the side.

He’d reached his peak. There’d be no other way next but to go down and disappear to the oblivion.

And he’s getting old.

Either by injury, or by time itself, soon there’d be nothing.

Victor Nikiforov was doomed to die young.

But not Yuuri.

God, not Yuuri. Victor envied him so much it hurt sometimes.

Yuuri hadn’t reached his peak yet, he still had room for growth. So much improvement he could learn.

And then, there’d be so much more he could do besides skating.

Jobs he could get with his degree, music he could create with his skills, and even if everything else failed, he could just go back home and live out the rest of his life happily with his family and friends, managing his hotspring resort.

There’s so much more in his life, waiting for him.

Unlike Victor.

Unlike Victor who had nothing.

If he could no longer skate, could no longer think up routines, what else would be there for him? The only thing he trusted would still be there even if stopped skating was only Makkachin, but even the loyal poodle couldn’t fight the flow of time. He’d be gone soon too.

And then what?

In the midst of internal turmoil, there was Yuuri.

Yuuri who skated so beautifully, with stories loud and clear with even the slightest movement. Yuuri who incorporated Victor’s moves in his skating. Who was so expressive and mesmerizing on the ice.

The thought once again came to Victor.

He wanted to skate like Yuuri someday. Similar to when he was young and honestly thought that he’s as happy as he could be with only skating in his heart.

“… I need to work hard too, isn’t it, Makkachin?”

The old dog just whined as if in agreement before licking Victor’s cheek.

It’s always been Victor’s policy to make sure his fans are satisfied.

As thanks for giving him another taste of excitement, it’s the least he could do.

* * *

Sometimes, Victor wondered.

It’s not like Yuuri was the only one. It’s not like he’s special. In reality, it was Victor who was special and strange, who only had skating in his life.

There were so many others too like him.

Like Chris for example, majoring in linguistic. Who could poledance better than a pornstar. Who had a life outside skating with his friends.

Who skated with him as inspiration.

“Hm? What is it, _mon cher_?

Chris was Chris.

Victor stared, and still he felt nothing. Even though logically, he had every reason to think highly of Chris too. And dear god, he’s so expressive on ice too. He’s fun to be with too. Victor honestly enjoyed being with Chris.

Still, the feeling that always appeared whenever he looked at recordings of Yuuri skating never appeared when he’s watching Chris.

Sure, he’s always happy when he looked at Chris’s skating. When he managed new jumps or difficult choreography, Victor always felt pride and joy for him too.

But, it’s different.

No admiration. No envy. No excitement.

He wondered why.

* * *

Yuuri skated to cheery songs and yet Victor could only feel sadness during season of year 2014/2015.

Reading comments, he found out that it’s because Yuuri’s best friend had gotten hurt, and apparently it affected him terribly.

Victor scored poorly by his standard on his first performance after watching those tapes, obviously affected. Just by watching someone skate. Amazing, Victor thought.

Victor hugged Makkachin tight as soon as he able to. Feeling sorry and afraid and despaired.

He was sure he understood Yuuri’s feelings. Victor knew he wouldn’t be able to let go of his sadness to fully immerse in the characters of the stories he’s telling if anything were to happen to Makkachin.

Soon.

Inevitably.

So sad, wasn’t it? To think of a dog first instead of Chris or Georgi when he heard the word ‘bestfriend’.

Still, Victor started to consider it then. Finally taking a break after decades of only skating. To be there when Makkachin’s time come, to go soul searching for his next course of action because soon that time would come wouldn’t it?

When Victor couldn’t skate anymore. When he finally lose everything.

Would he continue after that? Victor didn’t know. He could imagine Yakov saying that he wouldn’t be able to. It’s delicate thing, time. Specially for Victor, one of the oldest active skaters. Yakov was very rarely mistaken. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to.

Victor wavered, not yet ready to face the truth that he’s _dying_.

And then, there’s Yuuri.

Yuuri who was hurt and affected. Yuuri who opted to skip Worlds.

Yuuri who might quit skating after this.

* * *

_Stay close to me, don’t go away_

_I’m afraid of losing you_

* * *

Yuuri was strong.

Even if he’d hit a wall, obvious in his skating, he didn’t give up and kept on moving forward. Victor was so relieved when Grand Prix roster was announced.

Tension bled out, leaving him almost breathless after he saw recordings of Yuuri’s first performances of the season, stronger and more beautiful than ever.

Victor felt like working harder on his skating too.

* * *

 _Trophee du France_ , Banquet.

Chris was smiling widely at his phone. Peeking through his shoulder, it was an Instagram picture. Yuuri was smiling sheepishly with who Victor recognized as Phichit Chulanont from Thailand, raising a cup of what seemed to be bubble tea.

“Yuuri made it to Final this year.”

Victor was confused.

He was sure that for a second, his heart stopped beating at the mention of the Japanese’s name. Still he swallowed it down with champagne and tried to act casual despite the excitement bubbling from within him.

“Oh? Isn’t that your friend from Junior?”

“Hmhm.”

“Introduce me to him later.”

“Oh, don’t worry, _mon cher_. I plan to.”

Victor had never felt grateful he’s friends with Chris more than at that moment.

* * *

Grand Prix Final.

Sochi.

Victor came earlier than the other skaters. He rented a car and went with Georgi, Mila, and Yuri, deciding to enjoy roadtrip beforehand.

When they arrived, they were told that Yakov had reserved the morning hours for their practice.

Mila and Yuri weren’t good with that. They always seemed so sleepy in the morning, wobbly in the beginning until they freshen up usually around nine. Victor never had any problem with skating in the morning. Rather, it’s nice. The feeling of skating on newly polished ice. He’d always loved it.

Also, maybe the black coffee he drinks every morning helps. It couldn’t be helped that children like Mila and Yuri preferred sweetened drinks, low in caffeine. Good for them, really, but still.

Yakov finally relented, but Victor always came early anyway.

Victor expected to always come to empty rink.

It was until about a week after his arrival, and he came to the sight of Yuuri Katsuki skating right in front of him.

* * *

Since then, there were times when their eyes met.

Honestly, it’s not like Yuuri was disturbing anyone. Yuuri was free to skate until the allotted time for others, the rink free for anyone’s usage until then. He’d heard that Yuuri’s practice time was in the evening, but Yuuri was always there in the morning.

Skating beautifully, detached from his surrounding. Clearly in his own world, fully immersed in his story.

His emotions clearly displayed.

Just the scraping sound he made with his skate was enough as music.

He’s as always, mesmerizing to watch. He seemed content, so unlike the year before. Victor was happy for him. Relieved beyond believe that he could finally see Yuuri in person after years, that he’s still there even after what happened the year before.

Yuuri had the grace of a dancer worthy of the title Principal.

That’s common knowledge. Victor knew that, and had seen how graceful Yuuri really was when performing. But still, it’s weird. It’s like he’s under spell then, a spell which broke after his performance ended.

For some reason, whenever their eyes met when Yuuri wasn’t focused on his skating, he’s prone to tripping and falling.

And always, always, always, he’d run away after that.

Why…?

* * *

“You seem… troubled, Victor. It’s not like you.”

“Really? Not really.”

He’s just annoyed Chris hadn’t fulfilled his promise to introduce him to Yuuri, that’s all.

Also, he’s just frustrated because that’s the problem, was it?

There’s no reason why he had to wait for Chris to talk to his competitor. It’s ridiculous, the distance between them.

But then he remembered Yuuri seemingly mortified after falling in front of Victor, his speed to escape the rink which would put the speedskaters to shame. Yuuri was unlike any other skaters Victor had encountered. Other skaters either praised him to no end or give proclamation of challenge. Not Yuuri. He just… run away, as if frightened.

So maybe there’s a reason why he had to wait for Chris. Surely Yuuri would feel more relaxed if he’s with his old friend. Surely he wouldn’t run away then, right?

Chris apologized, saying that he’d invited Yuuri but apparently something came up.

Victor might had stabbed his chicken with more force than necessary, prompting raised eyebrows from Georgi.

“If I don’t know better I’d say you’re lovesick, Victor.”

Chris choked on his tea and giggled much to Victor’s mortification.

* * *

“Am I really?”

“Victor, you liked every one of my pictures in Instagram with Yuuri on it. I’ve heard you practicing what I am sure is Japanese salutations whenever you think no one is looking. You’re irked he’s not coming to dinner. What do you think?”

“Huh…”

* * *

The day before Short Program, rain fell upon Sochi.

Temperature dropped so sharply and suddenly that Victor was sure that it’d snow later.

Yuuri stood on the lobby, seemingly glaring at the cloudy sky. Victor couldn’t help chuckling. The younger man seemed so adorable like that, so childish. So unlike how he usually looked when around others.

Victor felt so lucky to be able to witness it.

He turned to the glass window, inspecting his reflection. His hair seemed tamed enough. His clothes too, he just got back from talking to sponsors when Yakov called and yelled at him to return before he’s stuck in traffic or worse, gotten cold just before competition.

Acceptable, okay.

His heartbeat was so loud. It’s new experience to Victor.

He wondered if that’s how it would feel when faced with a skittish animal.

Silently he apologized to Yuuri for equalizing him to an animal, but it’s his fault too for running away too often to Victor’s liking for something as natural as falling. Honestly, what did he think Victor would do to him anyway?

Hopefully, by offering a ride back to the hotel Yuuri would reconsider his opinion of him.

Whatever it was.

* * *

Honestly, Victor had finished Free Skate with more energy than after he drove Yuuri Katsuki back to the hotel.

The Japanese kept his silence, didn’t say anything but stuttering “ _thank you_ ”.

Okay, he said it twice.

But still.

Victor was so full of regret he’s in agony. He should had asked Yuuri his LINE account. He should had talked to him. If he could think of nothing, there’s always Makkachin. Makkachin was the best icebreaker. Nobody could resist Makkachin.

And Yuuri was a wellknown dog lover too…

He could had asked him the reason he said _‘no comment’_ when asked in an interview about the meaning of the name ‘ _Vicchan’_ he gave his toy poodle!

But in the ten minutes they’re together in that car, they exchanged no words whatsoever.

Victor looked at himself in the mirror, and glared.

“You’re going to try harder next time.”

* * *

Yuuri smiled at him after his short program, the sight more satisfying than anything Victor had ever seen before.

Victor would have talked to him, but reporters surrounded him like hungry sharks and he was rather occupied. When they dispersed, Yuuri was already nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Yuuri broke down during free program, failing every single jump in his program.

He ended up last place.

Victor felt like something had broken, even though he couldn’t tell what it was.

* * *

After medal ceremony, their eyes met again.

“Do you want commemorative photo? I don’t mind.”

Yuuri turned around and left without word, leaving Victor so terribly confused and pained.

* * *

It’s what people would normally want with him after competition, he said it without thinking.

He didn’t realize how hurtful those words could sound to other competitors, as if saying that their achievement was out of pure luck and doubtful to repeat once more.

He didn’t realize how high and mighty those words could sound, as if to him every other people were below him.

Chris only explained how terribly others could take those words the next year during European Championship.

No wonder Yuuri never tried to contact him despite his invitation in banquet. With alcohol out of his system, his lucid mind must be thinking about how horrible of a human being Victor Nikiforov is. How heartless. Honestly, Victor didn’t think he could refute that.

The love he’d found, both passionate and pure broken before it even started.

The stories he’d imagined since Sochi left without their ending.

No matter how he tried, no other story would appear.

Victor Nikiforov was finally, after years of denial and desperate acting, hit a tall wall. Impossible to conquer now without Yuuri rousing emotions from within him.

Existential crisis at age 27, finally. It’s long overdue. Most people got it when they’re in their late teens.

“It’s just you and me then, Makkachin,” he said as he rubbed the poodle’s ears, finally deciding to give up and accept reality. He considered abandoning his plan to go to Yuuri's hotspring resort to ask forgiveness during off-season. Maybe Yuuri would prefer it that way. Well, it's not like there's any relation between them. They're barely acquaintances.

It was then when his phone rang, notifications popping up like crazy from all available social media.

And just like that, the wall disappeared.

* * *

“On second thought, you're coming with me to Japan, Makkachin.”

The poodle barked excitedly.


End file.
